Eat, Laugh, Duck
by prassacut
Summary: Entry for the Eurofornication anonymous contest.Won 1st place in Popular Vote: PARIS. Sometimes an hour becomes a day. EPOV, AH, M, Slash.


**_I was going to quote a Cake song, a Beach Boys song and a The Police song to thanks Daria Chenowith, WendyK and Chrissy, but it was dumb because the lyrics had their names in it but well, that was it. So here:_**

**_Thanks to WendyK, my beta, she's sweet, fantastic and did an incredible work!_**

**_Thanks To Chrissy, my friend/cheerleader, she's always there when needed and can listen to me whine and help me plot for hours._**

**_Thank you to my friend/cheerleader/whine sister, the amazing Dariachenowith. She rocks and I love her deeply. She's the reason why I dare to write, she helps me plot everuthing, and her faith in me is incredible. She also wrote an entry for the same contest, called "In Vienna" and I love it to the bones._**

**_I wouldn't have won without those three incredible women. Thank you!_**

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><p><strong>This Os has won first place, 'Popular vote', for the Eurofornication anonymous contest. A huge thank you to the people who voted for me! **

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><p>It's the second time I've asked her to repeat it and I still don't get what she means. Her accent is making me miserable.<p>

The stars? That's new. The stars? Shit. I'm not listening anymore.

".. and you will find it. Easy like all!"

Easy like all? What the hell does that mean? Fuck, now she's gone. Okay, I need a map ASAP. I turn around to go back to the subway when I bump into someone. Damn, people shouldn't stand right behind you, it must be a funny thing over here because the guy is laughing. I utter a "sorry" before heading to the subway again.

"You didn't understand a word of that, did you? You should have seen your face."

Great, he's laughing at me. I look at him which makes him laugh even more. Seriously?

"No, I didn't. A fact that I don't find amusing. I have a train in..." I take a look at the clock on the railway station's wall "...52 minutes exactly. I'm in the wrong station, but I have no idea where to go and I can't miss that train."

He smiles but I can see he wants to laugh at me again. My frown must make him change his mind and he says, "Gare du Nord, right?"

"Yeah. I got off at the wrong subway station. But I know it's not far."

"Sure, you'll get there faster if you walk. I can take you there if you want."

I take a good look at the guy. You hear stories everyday about tourists being mugged. Although he doesn't seem threatening. Do muggers have a sense of style? Because this one does. Black jeans in a good cut, black boots, black tee-shirt with something written on the front in French and a black leather jacket that has seen better days which gives it great style.

Okay, I take it back, he pulls off the outfit very well, but all this black isn't normal. Black short hair, and grey eyes that are now looking straight at me. He has a small smile on his lips, clearly aware I'm checking him out. Yeah, to see if he's a mugger! Maybe I shouldn't tell him that, French people are known to be touchy. Or maybe not. He's laughing again and I have the sense he knows exactly what I'm doing. 50 minutes. Okay, I can take him if he tries anything.

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"I guess you did, lead the way."

I pick up my bag and he leads me outside to a narrow street alongside the train station. Maybe I shouldn't follow him after all, but soon we're back in the sun and the street we're in doesn't look like a cut-throat alley anymore. It's Paris in all its clichés, cobbled street and buildings from the end of the 19th century. It's nice to be walking in the sun; the weather is warm and the buildings stand out in the bright blue Parisian sky. I think I should talk to the guy, that's polite, right? I guess I haven't been that pleasant up to now, and he's helping me. But before I can try to find anything to say he beats me to it.

"I'm Riley, by the way."

"Edward."

He still has a small smile on his face, as if he's in on a private joke. It's disconcerting, but he's got a nice smile.

"Edward?"

"What?"

"Stars."

Ok, I'm lost again. What is it with these people and 'stars'?

Then I understand. He's pointing ahead of us and I can't miss them. Stairs. Neither of us can keep from laughing. It feels good, I have to admit.

"I really didn't get what she was telling me, and the 'stars' thing threw me off even more."

"Yep, accents can make it difficult to understand sometimes and let's be honest, she had a particularly bad one!"

I chuckle and add, "Maybe, but her English is still better than my French."

I wonder about _his_ accent. He doesn't seem to have a French accent, but he has British intonations, and some American ones too. And something else I can't pinpoint.

He laughs at that and shrugs."You never learned French?"

"Oh, I learned it in high school! But I never could put two sentences together!" I'm the one shrugging now. "I think I just suck at it."

He doesn't add anything more to the topic, and I realize we've arrived.

"Northern train station, Gare du Nord, and way ahead of time."

It's true, I have forty-five minutes to spare. I'm almost sad the walk is over.

"So, have a good trip, Edward. London, I guess?"

I'm surprised he knows this. "How did you know?"

"You could be headed to Lille, but London seems more logical." And he laughs again. His face brightens each time he does. It sounds carefree and I wonder why this guy who laughs so much only wears black.

"Fair enough. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome! Bye!"

I stare at his retreating form. Forty-five minutes. I could have bought him a drink at least. The guy went out of his way to help me and he seems nice. Before I even realize I've made a clear decision, I call his name.

He turns around, smiling, and when he reaches me asks, "Yes, Edward?"

"I have time to kill, if you're free. Let me buy you a drink. It's the least I can do, to thank you for your help."

He's laughing. Again. "Yeah, sure. There's a café with outside tables a little further along, sound good?"

Once we're seated, I don't know how to restart our conversation, but I don't have to wonder for long because he does.

"Why are you going to London?"

"I have a plane to catch. I'm going back to Chicago."

He seems to think for a second. "Why not leave from Paris, then?"

"I spent some time in London first, for work. Then I went to the south of France to vacation with some friends. I just got back, and I couldn't even take the subway from Gare de Lyon to Gare du Nord without getting lost!"

"It can happen to anyone, you know. Even if getting lost in the Parisian subway is nearly impossible."

"Oh yeah, thanks. Please mock me."

"Qu'est-ce que je vous sers, messieurs?"

The waiter is here and I don't need to speak French to know he wants to take our order. Riley is waiting for me to tell him what I want. You can't go wrong with Heineken, right? so that's what I ask for. Well, I just say "Heineken". And Riley looks at me as if I have two heads. Tell me I haven't insulted the waiter.

"Heineken?"

"What? Is that an insult?"

"Yes!"

Okay, he looks really serious. Proof that he doesn't laugh _all_ the time. Shit. But Heineken is a beer, how can it be an insult, too?"

I lean over the table and whisper, "Riley? How is it an insult? I've ordered Heineken countless times and I've never gotten that reaction before!"

"Because Heineken is like cat piss! It's used to bake crêpes, or for homeless people!"

Call me confused. What?

"I admit you won't find a great beer in a café like this one, but at least order a Leffe. It's not a great beer, but it's a good enough beer!"

"But, they serve Heineken here!"

"Yes. To tourists."

"Ok, I'll take a Leffe then."

I won't argue with him about a beer but I still think it's a weird reaction. He gives our order to the waiter in a perfect French, it _sounds_ perfect anyway, and again I wonder about him.

"You don't speak English with a French accent and you don't speak French with an English accent. Why is that?"

"My mother is French, and my father is from Baltimore so I can speak both languages perfectly. I've lived here most of my life, though."

Hence the strange accent, I guess. I watch him, the way he's totally at ease, his smile never faltering. And the way he watches the people around us. I can feel he's totally in the conversation but his stare jumps from one person to the next like they are mysteries to solve. I just enjoy the sun and it's a real pleasure. I can feel his gaze on me, now, and I look at him.

When you look at someone who's already looking at you, their first reflex is to lower their gaze. It's a sort of universal truth. Riley doesn't and keeps his stare on me; it's disconcerting but not unpleasant. I feel no judgment there, and I don't feel like he's trying to figure me out, either. He starts looking at other people again and says,

"Do you ever wonder about the lives of the people around you? Strangers, I mean. I love to watch people."

I don't think I've ever wondered about that. Maybe because I never took the time to and I tell him so.

"You should. It's interesting. I think you can get a better idea of who people are just by watching them than the people who actually know them can."

It's a strange idea. But it's also an interesting theory. The waiter comes back with our beers and slides the tab under a white ashtray. Riley picks up his glass and looks at me."To health, happiness and sex!" He clinks his glass with mine. I'm in France, alright. I don't comment on his words, because I'm still thinking about what he said before.

"Do you really believe you can understand more about a stranger than the people who actually know them?"

He looks at me, clearly intrigued as to why I'm asking that, but then seems to dismiss it before answering,

"To a certain extent, yes."

I ponder his words and it's clear he's giving me time to do so. He refrains from saying anything, doesn't change the topic and doesn't push me on this one, either. It's a comfortable silence, made only for my benefit. It happens rarely enough and I relish it. I look up and ask,

"Do you think people around us make us "be" what they think we are, rather than "be" who we are?"

He doesn't answer me, but makes a gesture with his hand telling me to go on with my thought.

"I often feel that people around me know me very well, but only one part of me. Parents, for example, are meant to be the ones who know their children best, right?" He stays silent so I keep going, "But they actually only know what we show them. I mean there are some things parents should never know about their children. And mine sure ignore a lot of things about me, which is a relief, by the way." We both laugh at that, but he seems set on letting me finish with what I have in mind and I continue,

"Then there are childhood friends, high school friends, college friends, work friends and they all know a different part of me. And each vision they have of me is a frozen version of myself. If all these people got together to define who I am, they would get the complete picture, but they never do, so each person I know only has a piece of who I am. Even my closest friend, who knows the most about me -probably more than my parents do- isn't even close to having the whole picture of who I am. Sometimes I feel like a mirror, broken-to-pieces, and everyone around me holds one of those pieces but it only reflects what they know of me, what they _ knew_ and what they _think _I am. And whoever I am with, I never feel-"

I stop there because I don't really know how to finish that sentence, plus I must sound like an emo lunatic. _Great_.

"Whole."

I stop my inner bashing when he finishes my sentence. I look at him in wonder. "Yes!"

"Well, get used to it or better, make peace with it. No one will ever know you completely. People who think they do are delusional. It's a good thing, too, you know."

"Delusional people?"

"Ar, ar! Edward made a joke! No. The fact that you will never know people totally. Where is the pleasure in knowing everything? How can you ever be surprised by anyone if you know everything about them?"

"I never saw it that way before. So I should stop feeling like a fraud and start feeling mysterious?"

His smile widens and he nods. We're silent for a few minute, enjoying the warmth and companionship.

"Is it your first time in Paris?"

I keep my eyes closed, my face still turned towards the sun, while I answer him. "Fourth time. Today I'm only passing through but I came here on vacation before. With my family first, then twice with friends, the ones I was on vacation with actually."

"Let me guess." He stops talking which makes me look at him. "The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre-Dame, The Arch of Triumph, the Sacred Heart in Montmartre and The Père-Lachaise Cemetary ?

"Well, yeah."

"Don't get me wrong, those are things to see and visit while one is in Paris, it would be silly not to, but Paris is so much more than that. So if you came here more than once it's sad you didn't get to see more."

I sit straight in my chair, feeling a bit miffed at his words. "I took a guide to see all those things! I've learned a lot about the city, and historically, it's fascinating."

He laughs and takes a sip of his beer. It's a better beer than Heineken, I have to say but I won't tell him that.

"I don't doubt that, Edward. I meant, I think to enjoy Paris fully you have to 'take your time', not rush from one thing to the next."

"Hey, we never rushed!" Okay, I'm miffed now.

He lifts his hands in surrender, still smiling, and says, "I'm just saying that there are a lot more things to see than the obvious ones. Most people are oblivious but they are there. They aren't as shiny as the Eiffel Tower but they shaped Paris, too. Plus, I'm just asking because you seem to like history."

"Okay. Although I like random facts better than 'history', to tell you the truth."

I finish my beer and then check my watch. Twenty minutes before the train is scheduled to leave. Riley shakes his head.

"You won't miss it. But I hope you planned enough time to get to the airport The Eurostar is pretty reliable until it's not, or when there's a strike." He chuckles at his own joke.

"I'm not worried, my plane isn't until tomorrow. "

He looks surprised, "A man with a plan."

"Yup, I'm spending time with my uncle tonight and we'll take a plane together tomorrow at 2:00 PM."

"Or you could take a train tomorrow morning instead of now and still catch your plane."

I don't answer because I have nothing to say. It's not the plan, plus there's a risk I could miss my plane and, well, it's not expected.

"Not expected, or not expected _from_ you?"

I must have said the last part of my musing out loud. I look at him and he is clearly waiting for an answer from me. I shrug, "Both, I suppose."

"I have a question. Does you uncle live in London?"

I don't know where he's going with that but I answer anyway. "No, we work together back in Chicago. He stayed in London to spend time with friends."

"Okay, I see it this way: you'll spend a few hours in Paris, in the sun might I add, with the King of Random Facts, and then you can go back to your London-uncle-plane plan and go on with your life. I'm not saying you won't have a good time in London, I'm just stating the 'll have other opportunities for family time, but maybe not for this. And if you're bored with me you can still take a train later today and bitch about French stupidity for years to come."

"Half-French stupidity."

We both laugh at that and I'm surprised I'm actually considering his offer. What do I have to lose? And he's right, worse case scenario I _can_ take a train later today. "Okay."

"Okay? Great. We just have to do something about your bag. It'll be a pain to have to carry it everywhere."

We stand up and he leads me inside the train station. Apparently you have to ask for a locked rack.

I only keep my phone and wallet with me, and I send a message to Carlisle explaining my change of plan.

We're outside again in no time and I can't help but feel lighter. I have no idea what I'm doing and it's thrilling. "So, what now?"

Still looking straight in front of him, he puts his arm around my shoulders and says, " Now, Edward, it's time to enjoy lunch!"

I let Riley lead me through Paris's streets. One thing I'm sure of is that we're heading to the Sacred Heart. I can only feel impatient and amazed when its white dome can be seen above the buildings. I love Montmartre; I'm happy he's taking me there.

Riley and I don't talk on the way but it's not an uncomfortable silence. We just don't really know what to talk about now that I've made my decision to stay.

Once we reach the bottom of the Sacred Heart's stairs, he points to a restaurant nearby. I'm disappointed we're not going to climb them right now, but I'm ravenous and the enticing smells coming from the restaurant distract me..

Riley sits down at a table for two outside, and I gesture to him, explaining that I'm going inside to take a leak. When I come back, his jacket is off and he's sprawled on his chair, eyes closed, face turned towards the sun, a perennial smile on his lips. I take a moment to observe him before joining him. The guy is really good looking, and I can see his body more clearly without his jacket on. The image is so hot I can't keep my cock from getting hard. Nice. I have to walk with a hard-on now. I really hope he doesn't open his eyes before I sit down.

We order our food and we fall into an easy conversation about wine. People come and go around us and I'm happy to be sitting here, taking the time to enjoy the moment. The view is beautiful and the company isn't bad either. Riley stares at me, and I raise an eyebrow questioningly.

"So, tell me about those vacations. Were you with that friend you were talking about?"

"Yes. Jasper and his wife, Bella. They're great, and my brother was there, too. Still is, actually. They rented a house in Avignon and invited us over. It's always a good time." I smile, thinking about my time with them.

"I sense history there."

I chuckle at that. You can find history anywhere if you want to; I know he's fishing, but I don't mind answering him.

"There is, in a way. I knew his wife before he did. She was my girlfriend first. We were sixteen and it was 'easy'. We loved each other but I don't think we ever were 'in love'. Plus she's lacking a cock, so it couldn't last long."

We crack up, but I don't say anything more as the waiter brings us a bottle of wine and our meal. I'm relieved to see I didn't order any funky stuff. I dig in and moan embarrassingly; it's just a dish with different cooked vegetables and an entrecôte steak but it's divine.

"You slept with her, anyway?"

"Yup, I like cocks better but I don't run away screaming at the sight of a pussy. Although I've fallen in love and in lust with guys, I've only ever felt lust for women. It happens rarely but when it does, if I'm free of commitment and the lady is willing, why not, right? It spices things up."

He guffaws at my words and adds, "I'm used to guys explaining it the other way around." I shrug. That's how I am, what can I say?

"So how did it end? You're still friends so I guess it wasn't too bad."

"Jasper transferred to our school. I didn't stand a chance. One week later I was dumped, and they've been together ever since."

"And now, they're married."

"Happily, yes." I change topic then."You said earlier that you've lived here most of your life. Where else did you live?"

"Boston and Baltimore, too. It was great but I missed life here. It's different in so many aspects."

"Like what?"

"I would need a week to explain it all."

He laughs and keeps eating. I'm sad that my plate is almost empty by now; it's too good to be over. Portions over here are much smaller than in the U.S. The last mouthful swallowed, I lean back in my chair and enjoy my glass of wine. Riley isn't done, yet, so we stop talking while he finishes eating .

"If you don't mind, we won't have our dessertnow. There's something you need to taste but it's not here."

I laugh at the innuendo. When he catches on, he shakes his head at me and mutters, "You wish."

I laugh even harder and shrug noncommittally. He can think whatever he wants of my 'answer'. Either way is fine by me if I'm honest with myself.

Our lunch is over; I pay for it and we're off to finally climb the stairs to the Sacred Heart. I'm surprised he doesn't pick up our conversation where we left off but instead asks, "Do you know why the hill the Sacred Heart is built on is called MontMartre?"

I can't say I guide who took us there a few years ago didn't explain. I shake my head at him and he goes on.

"Romans, as in Roman Empire Romans, used to kill Christians here 2000 years ago, because of their faith obviously. MontMartre is basically 'MartreMount' and Martre comes from Martyre. Are you bored yet? "

"No. But it's strange to think I'm walking where people were walking 2000 years ago."

Once we're in front of the Basilica, Riley leads me along the right side of it and around the back to where a smaller church stands, totally eclipsed by the size and beauty of the white building. Taking a better look, I can see it's beautiful, too. Riley points at it, "This is Saint-Pierre of MontMartre Church. Do you see those 4 columns?" I look at them; they are one of the things that look peculiar.

"It's the rest of a Roman Temple built here to venerate Mercury more than 1800 years ago. A thousand years later, only those columns still stood, then people built the church within. There was a Benedictine abbey built next to it, too. During the French revolution it was ransacked. Only one old, blind and mute nun still lived there at the time. She was sentenced to death for, listen carefully, having 'blindly and mutely conspired against the Republic.' The abbey was destroyed soon after.

It's so absurd I guffaw, "It sounds like something out of a Monty Python movie!"

"Well, it's a random fact, isn't it?" he chuckles."Come on, we'll take the subway now. Don't worry, I won't let you get lost."

"So funny, Riley. So, so funny." We step away from the church but I look back once. I never realized it was there, and even though I understand why people might not pay attention to it when they are in front of the SacredHeart, I still find it sad that tourists like me never notice it.

We spend the afternoon wandering through Paris, enjoying each other's company and avoiding the obvious tourists sites. The knowledge he has of the city blows my mind and I'm often left gawking at monuments and places, wondering why so few people visit them when they're so impressive and interesting, like Sens' private mansion, from the Middle Ages. I also have the chance to visit the first Catholic cathedral's crypt which is still in perfect shape and hidden under an apartment building.

We stop at a small bakery where we buy our 'dessert'. He wants me to try something called 'Paris-Brest', a round puff pastry filled with a praline flavoured mousseline cream and it's so good I think I come a little. I also realize something else. French people touch, grab, pat and fondle all the time. I thought it was a 'Riley Thing' but after watching people and talking with Riley, I know now that it's a "French Thing". He explained to me that it's not done in a sexual way. I had to tell him that it appeared sexual to me. Of course, he laughed at me again.

"Where are we?"

"Chatelet-les-Halles. We'll go to The Ile de La Cité from here; it will take us a little while but I've things to show you on the way." My face must give me away because he adds, "Not _those _kind of things."

We're still in the subway station and we're heading out. The walk seems endless. "So, is there a way out? I feel like we've been here forever!"

"Welcome to the biggest underground station in the world, Edward."

He takes my arm to lead me on the right. People are everywhere and it's difficult not to bump into them. At last we're out and I take a deep breath. It may be the biggest underground station in the world but it's also the smelliest one. We're in huge garden with narrow paths, benches and arbors. It's beautiful and I can't see the end of it.

"So, ever heard of Les Miserables?"

I hit him on the head because it's really the only answer I have for him. Of course, he just laughs and then adds, "Sorry. I had to ask, I knew your reaction would be funny. So you probably know about the 'La Court des Miracles', the Court of Miracles, where all the tramps, thieves, beggars and the disabled use to live."

"Well, it was here. Although at the time," he points to the north end of the garden, "the Chatelet was there; a prison where they tortured people, which was also Paris' morgue. On the other side," he points then to the south, "there was the biggest slaughterhouse. You can imagine why they chose this place. Between the smell of old blood and the screams of animals and humans alike, no one ever came here to look for them."

That's really grim. But I'm still amazed I'm standing here, even if there's nothing left from then. I thought the Court of Miracles was a creation of Victor Hugo's mind, and it's not. It's a strange concept to grasp.

He's still holding my arm as we walk along one of the paths until an old tower appears. "That's the Saint-Jacques of the Butchery Tower." I have to wonder about the names the French give to their buildings. I only nod at him. He keeps talking "It's the only remaining one from that time. Not that we would want more."

"So, when you said you were the King of Random Facts, it wasn't just a pick-up line?"

He hits me, and I rub my torso as if he hurt me. He doesn't fall for it and sits down on one of the benches. I take a look around me. The garden is full of roses, mostly white ones, and they're all in bloom. I guess June is the right month to be in Paris. I sit next to him and he leans on me, his lips close to my ear.

"I wouldn't pick you up with a lame line like that, anyway." His breath on my neck and his tone make my cock stand at attention. It had already started due to his closeness, but now that it's clearly straining against my pants, there's no way to hide it. His chuckle tells me he's not oblivious to it. He slides his hand from my shoulder to my cock, palming it. I'm lost in the shiver that passes through my body, but my head jerks up to check if there's anyone around. We're in a public park, damn it!

He removes his hand and smiles at me. "Edward, I wouldn't do anything here." I must be an open book. "You know Paris is full of narrow streets, themselves full of porte-cochere to hide you from the world." I mustn't look convinced because he goes on, "You're enjoying Paris as a Parisian today, but you can take my offer or refuse it. It's as you please."

I don't really know what his offer is exactly, although I have a good idea his mouth would be involved. My cock gets even harder at the thought.

"You're not ready, yet."

"What?" Maybe I can decide that for myself!

"If I blow you, which by the way would be one of my greatest pleasures, I want you to enjoy it completely. Not be watching out for people who could stumble upon us. I know no one would, but you don't."

He pokes my abs while he's talking but I don't take my eyes off of his lips. I want it.

He stands up before I can say anything, and takes a few steps before turning around and saying, "I can wait. I know you'll cave. I want you to not only want it but to _need_ it. Then I'll be sure you'll enjoy it fully.

Tease. I want it. "I want it!" Okay, maybe he's right. The idea turns me on; I wish I wasn't a pansy when it comes to outdoor sex.

He chuckles and keeps walking. I don't have any choice but to catch up with him. It's really uncomfortable walking around with a hard-on and I feel like the people we cross paths with know about it. Which is a crazy thought. They can't know. They don't, right?

"They don't know, Edward."

"Stop reading my mind!"

"I don't have to read your mind, your face says it all. Stop worrying about what people you don't even know might think of you. If they know then it's because they're watching your does _that _say about _them_?"

He has a point, I guess. It's still uncomfortable to walk anyway.

"So I was wondering, do you also bottom?"

Okay, that's out of the blue! or maybe not. He was talking about sucking my cock five minutes ago, so I guess we're on topic.

"Yeah, but it doesn't happen much, sadly. Not a lot of gays mix it, as you know, and only a few of the guys I was with were into it. Mostly, bisexuals like it both ways." I pause. "Twice deviant, you know?"

"Oh yeah, some people don't get how we can be gay while a lot of gays don't get how some of us can like pussies, too."

"Yeah, it's kind of sad if you ask me." I'm relieved to feel my cock deflate a little and my steps are lighter because of it.

"I can't fuck a woman, but I like to switch."

And back to the full hard-on! I rein in my surge of lust as he keeps talking.

"I mean, you can't not want to be as close as possible to someone you're with, and it's another way to achieve it, but yeah, it isn't always possible. Okay, so we're now in a very old part of Paris. Treasures are hidden, scattered everywhere here."

I smile at his change of topic. He looks into my eyes then right at my crotch to see if my cock is still as hard as before. Maybe it's not a change of topic after all. We're in front of a long staircase. There's no pavement, just stairs going downwards as far as you can see, reminding us that Paris is far from being flat. We pass them and end up in front a house that stands out from the others around.

"This house is the oldest house in Paris, it's from 1407. In the tourist guide, you'll read that the one in rue Volta is oldest, but it's been proven that it's only a later reconstruction. The house is still old, but not the oldest. The guides never changed it, so tourists still go there thinking it is."

Oldest or not, it's really impressive. I can't take my eyes off it.

"It was Nicolas Flamel's house. You know who he was?" I hit the back of his head again. I think I'll do it each time he takes me for an idiot. "He became really rich from one day to the next, and when the King asked him where his fortune came from, he answered that he had found the way to change lead into gold. That started the legend."

"Impressive, Edward."

I hit him again but he catches my hand before I step away, and the next thing I know, his lips are on mine and his tongue is in my mouth. I push my body against his, and as expected, he's hard, too. I grip the back of his head with one hand while the other slides around his waist, pulling him closer against my body.

Our kiss isn't rushed,but deep. I can't help but push my groin into him when he moans. His hands trail against my back, then my abs, and one of them end up stroking my cock through my pants. I buck into his hand and my lips leaves his, my tongue licking his upper lip.

His tongue snakes outside his mouth and strokes mine for a moment, until my lips are back on his. I can't think of anything else but his offer. I don't care right now that there are a few people in the street. I'm seconds away from asking him to blow me right here.

"Where are those porte-cocheres you were talking about?" My voice cracks as I talk which makes him laugh. He leads us to a narrow and empty street; he's right, there are a lot of porte-cocheres. We won't traumatize anyone who stumbles upon us. It's still a possibility, but instead of freaking me out it just excites me more. Once we're far enough along the street, I grab him and push him against a wall.

We resume kissing but I need more. Right now. I push on one of his shoulders to make him understand I want him on his knees and he complies eagerly, wanting it as much I do. On his way down he unbuckles my pants and frees my cock, and as soon as his knees hit the pavement he takes me fully into his mouth. I flatten my right hand on the wall behind him and put the left one on his head.

I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of his mouth and tongue on my cock. I love to watch, but if I do it right now, I won't last long. I need to calm down a little before I can enjoy the show. I feel one of his hand gripping my waist and the other one stroking my balls.

A man after my own heart. A blowjob _isn't _a should never use your hand, it spoils the pleasure the mouth gives you. I open my eyes and watch his mouth slide along my cock and I can't resist.

I step closer, my legs now on each side of his waist and I push my cock into his mouth. My hand is still cradling his head. My knuckles get scratched on the wall as my movements push his head back against it, but I couldn't care less. He keeps his head against the wall which makes his body bend backwards and I proceed to fuck his mouth. My body jerks and my thighs shake but I can't stop.

In this position I can see his face clearly and we don't break eye contact. People can't see us but I bet some can hear us. We moan like writhing whores and I swear like a sailor. When I can't hold it anymore I come deep in his mouth, still fucking it, and I only stop when I can feel the last of my tremors.

I can't move or see straight so I stay where I am, hand against the wall and my dick shoved in his mouth. A minute passes, maybe two, then I hear his chuckle and I finally set him free.

I help him stand up but don't move. We kiss again, my cock still hanging out, but I don't care enough to zip my pants up. I let my hands roam his body until one of them is on his cock, which is as hard as expected, but he shoves it away.

"You get to play with my dick but I don't get to play with yours? How fair is that?"

He grabs the back of my head and pulls me to him until his mouth is next to my ear.

"I don't need your dry hand on my cock." I try to look at him but he keeps me from moving. "And if you put your mouth anywhere near it, I'll shoot my load in the next second. I nearly came in my pants, that's how hot what you just did was. The only reason I didn't is because these jeans are too damn constricting."

He's talking slowly and I can feel how turned on he is, in addition to his obvious hard-on.

"Now I'll take care of myself, and believe me when I say I'll only need two seconds. Plus the fact that you'll be watching me won't help matters."

I snake my hand under his shirt and resume my roaming. His words are starting to make me hard again. I kiss him while he pulls his dick out and I move sideways when he starts stroking himself. I can't keep my eyes off of his cock and the motions he's making with his hand. Mine are still on his abs and I can feel them quiver. How can I not be hard at the sight of him!

He was honest when he said he wouldn't last long; just a few strokes are enough for him to squirt his load with a loud moan. We're standing here, both with our dicks out, in a street during the day. Our eyes meet and we burst out laughing. We zip up our pants, still chuckling, and I pull him to me. Kissing him seems to be something I won't tire of anytime soon. I finally step away and clear my throat.

"So what's next?"

He takes my hand and leads me into the sun again.

"You'll see. And don't think I'll forget."

"Forget what?"

We're back in front of Nicolas Flamel's house and I stop to look at it one last time. He answers even though I'm not looking at him. "Forget that your mouth needs to be on my dick soon. I'll make sure of that." I groan at his words, the picture of his cock in my mouth never leaving my mind as I keep looking at the house.

"It's incredible that it's still here and the way it is built is very interesting."

"You like architecture?"

I turn to him. I guess I never told him I'm an architect. I'm baffled that we know so little about each other and I still feel like I've known him forever. It's a strange feeling and I realize I love it. I feel good, right at this moment. I feel good and alive.

"To answer your question, I'm an architect. Architecture is a passion of mine, obviously."

He nods, and seems to ponder something before he asks, "What are your other passions?"

"Uhm, music..." I pause to think, "...food, sex." We laugh and he points to a street on the left he wants us to take. "I don't know. I'm interested in many things."

The street we're in now doesn't look anything like the one we were in a second ago. The buildings are more recent, probably early '20s, but they don't have any style. When he stops walking, I understand. Far down the street, where no one can really see it unless they're right in front of it, stands a tall stone tower.

"That's the only thing left from the Templars's temple, from the 13th century. It was here that Louis XVI and his family were held during the French Revolution before being beheaded. It's weird that no one knows it's here." I listen to him explaining why it's unknown to people outside of Parisians while we resume walking. I'm so lost in his explanation of Paris's history that it takes me some time to be aware that we're now walking along the Seine.

I take the time to appreciate the view of the Ile de la Cité. I can see the top of Notre-Dame Cathedral on the other side of the natural island. There are a lot more people around us, waiting for a boat, lazying in the sun or sightseeing. We navigate between bodies as we cross a bridge. There are so much people it's hard to stay side by side. He finally takes my hand in his and doesn't let go.

Once we are on the other side, we leave the streets full of tourists and end up in a garden next to what looks like a castle dating back to the Middle Ages. "That's the Hotel-Dieu, or 'Hostel of God', a hospital built in 1046."

The thing is enormous and beautiful. Although it's not that new to me. But I have always loved this part of Paris. You can really picture how it was centuries ago. Riley leads us out of the garden and we cross paths with one of the busy streets, people everywhere, rushing to visit the famous Cathedral.

He takes me farther from the tourist path once again. His hand never leaves mine. He kisses me before ushering me into an empty and narrow street. I laugh, thinking that maybe my time to play has come, but he halts in front of a chapel and I totally forget my salacious thoughts.

"That's St-Aignan's Chapel."

If I thought I could picture how the Ile de la Cité was centuries ago, I was wrong. It's nothing compared to actually seeing it which is what I'm doing right now. I feel the need to run to the main road and convince anyone who is willing to listen to me to forget about the Cathedral and come here instead. It's history and faith at its purest. I take a look around and no one is with us; this place is swarming with people all year long and no one comes _here_?

"Why don't people come here?"

Riley smiles sadly and states, " It's in most guides but it's eclipsed by Notre-Dame's fame. It's the only remaining church of the 23 that surrounded the cathedral."

"There were 23 churches on this small island plus a huge Cathedral?"

He chortles. "Kings and popes were like two peas in a pod for centuries, well until the popes moved from France to the Vatican. A king would build a church anytime he wanted the pope to change a rule."

We keep walking until we're at the Cathedral's square. And even if I love the building, I don't look at it much; it doesn't appeal to me like it did before. The small chapel a few streets over makes it seems almost irrelevant.

"Do you know how to find the north easily in Europe?"

"I can't say I do." I look around me. " Mold on trees?" He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving my face. "Google?"

He chuckles at my words but doesn't wait for me to add anything before explaining.

"All the Catholic churches point to the East. So if you know where the east is-"

"-then you find the North." I finish for him. I don't think I'll ever need it if I'm lost but I'm always happy to learn new things. "Why only in Europe?"

"Well, I'm not sure it's a worldwide fact. I'm just sure about Europe."

We crack up as we leave the square and Riley stops in front of two boutiques. He indicates the one on the left.

"This was a barber's shop." Then he points to the one next to it. "And this was a bakery." That said, he eyes me, a small smile on his lips. He's clearly waiting for a reaction from me but I-

"Sweeney Todd?" Well, it seemed plausible.

He guffaws. "Not quite, but yes, the legend, once more, started here, whatever people say. The barber killed students living with the monks and the bakers fed them to the monks. His pies were a huge hit until they were exposed. The barber and baker were burned alive for their crimes in 1387."

"Come on, I'll show you something else." We enter a restaurant and Riley is greeted by the owner. They exchange a few words in French and Riley pulls me to him as we head for the back. After a long stairway we end up in a vault. Riley opens another door.

"This was the Roman's Thermae. They're over 2000 years old."

The place still look as though Romans in togas might appear at any moment to take a bath. "That's rather impressive."

"It is. Only a few people know it's here, and anyway they couldn't visit, it's private. I only know about it because I'm always looking for Paris's hidden secrets and I'm friends with Julien, the owner. Now..." he lets his voice trail off and steps closer to me. "... is there a place more fitting than the Roman's Thermea for me to finally have my cock sucked? I haven't stopped thinking about it and I don't think I can take you anywhere else before you do it."

I don't need to reply, he simply kisses me, his tongue stroking mine. I take his jacket off. My hand are under his shirt and I relish the feel of his skin. I want to fuck him, I think I even _need_ to fuck him.

"Edward. My cock, your mouth. Now." He unbuckles his jeans and lowers them just enough for his cock to spring free before sitting on one of the stone benches sculpted from the walls. I kneel before him and keep eye contact as I take him fully in my mouth.

My already hard cock gets even harder from having his between my lips and from the sounds coming from him. My hands grip his side and I slide my mouth up and down his cock, set on hearing more of those sounds. I feel his hand grip a handful of my hair but he doesn't set a rhythm. He scratches my head lazily, his eyes half closed and still locked on mine. I discover then that Riley is a little bit of a talker, encouraging me to take him deeper, and praising my skills between deep moans that make his chest quiver.

I'm so caught up in the pleasure I get from sucking him that I only realize the door has been opened when it closes with a bang.

Riley pushes on my head when I jump at the sound and tell me to keep going.

A muffled, "Merde! Putain, Riley, tu pourrais prévenir!" comes from behind the door before footsteps are heard retreating. Riley chuckles at whatever the owner said to him, but the sounds soon become another moan. I suck on his cock faster, enjoying the feeling of it hitting my throat and my tongue tasting his skin.

He's gripping my head harder and his body jolts under my ministrations, a string of French words leaving his lips. He comes hard in my mouth, shoving his cock in my throat and keeping my head from moving as he comes down from his high.

When we come back up, the owner is laughing his ass off. He and Riley exchange a few words and Riley follows him behind the bar. He comes back with a bottle of wine and two glasses while the guy puts something into a bag for him.

We're back in the street. Riley turns to me and kisses me deeply, the motion making the glasses clink against the bottle and making few people look at us for a second. He takes a step back.

"Shit, that was something. You can suck my cock whenever you want, Edward!"

I laugh, thinking I wouldn't mind doing it again but make a face when I have to walk again. The hard-on I'm still sporting since I sucked him doesn't seem willing to go away. He cups my face then. "We're not going far. I wouldn't let you go anywhere with that in your pants."

I'm relieved at his words, but they also excite me even more. Fucking him is more than a need now. The looming idea of the train I have to take tomorrow breaks my good mood for a moment but I shrug it off, willing myself to enjoy the time I have with him instead.

We enter a building and take the elevator to the 6th floor. It's so small that we're crushed against each other but neither of us talk. I suppose he's taking me to his place, but instead of opening one of the doors on that floor, he takes out the same key he used for the front door to unlock a ladder and the trapdoor above it. We end up on the roof top where a deck chair sits next to a small table with books scattered on it.

"You can't go on roof tops, here. That's why they lock everything."

I keep my gaze on the view of Paris. From here I can see everything, it's absolutely breath taking. The sun is setting and it gives incredible color to the sky.

"But you do. That's your stuff?"

I can hear him shuffling around, and the sounds of the wine bottle being opened. "I have a special key. I like it here."

"You live in this building at least?"

"Nope, but I love this roof, and I thought you'd enjoy the view. Was I wrong?"

He asks the question while holding one of the glasses out to me. I take it and sip on my wine, my eyes still lost in the sea of roof tops and the famous monuments of the city. I turn around to find him sprawled in the deck chair. He puts his glass down on the table, next to a bottle of lube and a few condoms.

We lock eyes. My cock is trying to jump out of my pants at the lust in his gaze and the knowledge that I finally get to fuck him. He stays where he is and I take the few steps needed to join him. His legs hang on each side of the chair and I straddle them, facing him before sitting down and leaning on him until our chests are touching.

He slides his tongue slowly along mine and my lust for him goes through the roof. His hands grip and he pulls me closer while mine try to remove his jacket and shirt. I finally sit back to undress him more easily and he does the same for me . The feeling of his skin on mine is staggering.

I slide back on the deckchair and unbuckle his pants before yanking on them. The motion makes his legs jerk up; he takes his boots off so I can pull them all the way off, leaving him completely naked in front of me. I'm panting as I retrieve the lube and pour some on my fingers and he raises his legs, allowing me a wonderful view of his ass.

My fingers are inside his ass in the next second and I fuck him, alternating between watching his face and hard cock. He moans loudly, obviously enjoying what I'm doing. His dick twitches in front of me and I lean down, to lick from the base of his cock to its head. He bucks his hips and chuckles.

"As I said, you can suck me whenever you want, Edward." His voice is raspy as he talks. I laugh but shake my head. "I want your hand wrapped around your cock." He puts some lube in the palm of his right hand, grasps his dick and pumps it slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I'm so turned on, watching him spread out in front of me, stroking himself, that I stop fingering his ass and take my pants off so fast that I nearly fall off the chair.

**I **slide on a condom and hook my arm under his knees to pull him to me. His body slides on the deckchair and he grasps the back of it with his free hand, neither letting go of his dick nor our eye contact. His legs straddle my arms now, putting his ass right in front of my cock, ready to be fucked. I slam into him forcefully with a groan and he lets out a loud moan, whispering words I don't understand.

I break our gaze to watch my cock slide in and out of him, the sight making me moan and fuck him harder. His hand squeezes his dick and pumps it faster. Still holding his legs, I change position and kneel on the chair, making it easier for me to fuck him. The motion makes my cock move while I'm deep inside of him. He gasps and tells me how much he likes to feel my cock

I don't need any more incentive to fuck him as fast as I can. His body jerks with each of my movements and I feel his asshole relax with each stroke, letting his interior muscles suck me in and swallow me each time I push into him. The feeling is so powerful I could come right now. Our moans are getting louder and our words are a mixture of both English and French. I keep my eyes on his body and face, my mind focused on him and the pleasure coursing through me.

Our bodies become sweaty and slick so I put my hands on the chair for more leverage and lean on him, switching to long and slow strokes. I try to make it last as long as I can. His hand leaves his dick and he cradles my shoulders then my head. We kiss urgently, both knowing it'll end soon, neither of us able to hold off much longer.

His cock twitches against my abs and his fingers dig into the muscles of my back before one of his hands slides between us to resume his pumping. The position we're in doesn't leave him much room but I'm not willing to lean back. I keep kissing him until he jerks his head back, shouting as his cum spurts on our abs.

My strokes become frantic. I let my head fall on his shoulder and I bite it as he whisper-moans in my ear. My teeth release his skin as I feel my cock getting painfully hard, a telltale sign of my impending orgasm**.** I'm talking but I have no idea of what I'm saying, then my body jerksas I cum. I keep fucking his ass, moaning until my cock starts to deflate and I collapse on him with a shiver.

Only our pants are audible as I slide my hands between us to take the condom off. I let it fall on the floor as I put my head back on his chest. We get our breath back as we watch the city lights and when we can move again we look at each other and laugh at the state we're in. It's warm enough that we don't feel the need to dress yet. We just stay curled up in the deck chair, kissing lazily, our hands fondling each other's body.

"There's food if you're hungry"

I chuckle. "You're well prepared I see." He laughs before replying, "You didn't think there was only lube and condoms in that plastic bag? And for your information, I had to ask Julien for everything."

I look at him with mock shock. "What? You mean you're not used to taking lost tourists to your secret place to fuck them?" He shakes his head at my teasing and swats my arm when I laugh louder.

"I've never brought anyone here, to fuck or not." I sober up and smile at his words but stay silent.

The Eiffel Tower is sparkling, as it does for ten minutes each hour, and Riley starts laughing, his face hidden in my neck.

"Why are you laughing?"

His laughter dies down. "You know Parisians hate that?"

I play with one of his hands as I listen to him. "The sparkles? Why?"

"Because it's tacky."

I feel his tongue and mouth kissing and licking my neck. My cock goes from a semi-hard to a full hard-on, and I laugh. "I'm glad I invited you for a drink this morning."

His head jerks up and he smiles. "I knew you'd do it. I was actually counting to ten while I walked away. You stopped me at eight."

"Really?" I give him a pointed look. He bites my pecs lightly and says, "Okay, I was really hoping you would." I guffaw at his words and he bites me again.

"Don't mock. At least I never offered a drink to someone, saying 'I have some time to kill'!"

"Who's the one doing the mocking, now?" I sigh and look at the view again. "So that's it, I guess."

Riley catches on to what I'm talking about and answers, "As much as I wish it wasn't so, I think it is."

I turn my face to him. He's right, we don't have much choice. Our situation is fucked up but it is what it is. Now that I've finally met someone who gets me like he does, I have to leave. He strokes my hair with sadness, then smiles and adds, "But we have 8 hours left, right?" I nod and kiss him, letting his closeness soothe me. Then it occurs to me. "I have to go to London in 5 months, let's meet again then."

"Thank fuck for that! Yes!" He gives a relieved chuckle and his arms crush me to him.

I breathe in his scent and decide I don't want to think about it anymore. I tell him so and he sits sideways from me on the chair. Before I can make sense of what he's doing, his fingers are lubed and my left thigh is on his right shoulder.

"I don't want to think about it either. But we need to make good use of the time we have left, and fucking you will be a great start." His fingers enter my ass at the same time his mouth slides around my cock. I moan loudly and surges of pleasure and lust invade my body -and mind- leaving no place for any other thought.

_8 hours. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>If you're interested I'm not against writting a little more of them, just tell me.<strong>_

_** Thank you for reading. Feedback are always appreciated!  
><strong>_

**_Now, go read "In Vienna" by Dariachenowith._  
><strong>


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